


Good boy, Bad Boy

by AuthorReinvented



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alfred - Freeform, Angst, Arthur - Freeform, Brothers, England can't cope wiuth the revolution, Family, Human Names, Lots of Angst, Twisted! England, mathew - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:41:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 11,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24146824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuthorReinvented/pseuds/AuthorReinvented
Summary: Hetalia AU where Twisted!England has difficulty accepting America has left him.Human names used.
Relationships: America & Canada & England (Hetalia)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 48





	1. Mathew is a good boy

"Come here, poppet." The voice cajoled, sweet, harmless. "It's okay, I promise I'll keep you safe." If Mathew hadn't already seen the owner of the voice, gun in hand, shooting at him earlier, he might have believed the sweet tone. The footsteps crunched closer to him, only a few feet away from his hiding place, although Mathew was confident that the man with the gun couldn't see him. "Come on, be a good boy," The voice continued, soft, loving, and Mathew rested the urge to throw himself into the other man's arms.

He'd always been a good boy. Mathew never caused trouble, stayed quiet, supported his guardian. Mathew wasn't a trouble maker like his brother. It was his brother who had caused this mess. Of course, his brother didn't think about how what he did affected others, and was only concerned about himself. Yes, it was his brother's fault Mathew was in this situation now, although he couldn't fault his sibling. 

"Dear child, love," the man hunting him called again, a slight strain to his honeyed voice. "Come to me." Matthew's heart ached for the pained tone in the other man's tone. After all, the man hunting him was his guardian. Part of Mathew desperately wanted to sooth him, pulling the dangerous and hurting man into his arms, promising he would never leave. The other part of Mathew remembered why he ran in the first place.

How long had it been since Mathew had been allowed to go outside? The alloted time sitting by the window under strict supervision wasn't enough, he craved the feel of grass under his feet, the feel of the rough bark of the trees against his hands, more than the occasional breeze that wafted in from outside. He didn't understand why he had to be treated this way because of his brother. Mathew had always been a good boy, he did his best to be unobtrusive, to not cause anyone trouble or upset anyone. But somehow, every time his brother caused a problem, it came back to bite Mathew in the back.

"Please, love, where are you?" The hunter's voice was rising panicked. "Alfred!" There it was, the forbidden name. Mathew flinched despite himself, and the tangle of Ivy he hid behind rustled. He froze, try to disappear, but he knew it was too late. The hunter had found him. He advanced, his eyes sharp beneath his thick brows. "Alfred, sweetie, come out." He pleaded, finger on the trigger. "I know you're there. Please be a good boy for me." Mathew bit back a whimper, retreating further into the tangled vines.

"Poppet, love, dont be naughty." the voice was sweet again, no longer panicked. Mathew licked his lips and found his voice. "I'm scared." The words were pitiful and small, and spoke much too honestly for his liking. He was scared. Scared of what would happen if he came out, of what the man would do to him. The man froze, computing Matthew's words, then responded, sweeter than honey. "It's okay love, this won't hurt you. It'll just make you sleepy. Aren't you tired, dear boy?" 

Mathew was trembling now, and he tried to force the shaking to stop. They were just tranquilizers, not real bullets. It wouldn't hurt. It would be okay. "Alfred, child, come out right this instance!" The voice turned firm. Matthew's heart stopped beating. "Don't be naughty!" The voice scolded. "You don't want to be a bad boy do you?" Matthew's blood turned to ice. He knew this warning. It was his last chance to give in without being hurt. If Mathew was deemed to be "naughty" he would need to punished. Mathew was scared of the punishment. 

He sidled out of his hiding place, hesitantly, timidly, and tremoulousy met the sharp eyes of his hunter. "I'm a good boy." He whispered the words pathetically, not truly believing them himself. After all, why would a good boy be punished like this? But the other man accepted it with a gentle smile. "Of course you are, love." His finger squeezed the trigger, and Mathew, the good boy, fell down.


	2. Mathew isn't a Bad Boy

Mathew lay with his head in his guardian's lap, relaxing under the gentle hands smoothing at his hair. He was comfortable, and felt like he could lie like that forever. He didn't have any urge to move, even if he could. But even the peaceful moment couldn't last forever and the hands pulled away, and Mathew was left alone in the dark room. He wasn't allowed to have the window open anymore, it was closed and barred. He supposed it made sense, because he had jumped out of it and ran off. He was lucky that his guardian had forgiven him and not punished him further. 

The sounds from the kitchen alerted Mathew to the fact his guardian was making him lunch, and he sighed to himself. It was always like this. Mathew didn't particularly mind the dishes the other man made, but they tended to lack flavour, and the man tended to make food that were more Alfred's taste than Matthew's. It may have taken only a few minutes, or maybe an hour or so for the man to reappear with the food, a large slab of beef and some corn. Mathew's sense of time was warped from his long stay in the dark room.

"Here we are poppet!" His guardian smiled gently at him, a bite of steak on a fork. He was always like that now, to the point where Mathew couldn't even feed himself. Mathew tried to tell himself he didn't mind, swallowing past his shame and allowing himself to be fed like a child. As always, the food lacked flavour, but the steak was well cooked so Mathew didn't mind. It was too much for him to eat, of course, especially with his lack of exercise, but Mathew forced himself to accept as many bites as he could, if only for the smile on the other's face as Mathew ate his food.

Finally, when he simply couldn't eat anymore, Mathew made a move. "Arthur," He offer quietly, softly. "I need to use the restroom." His guardian hesitated, but not for long, before moving to unchain Mathew from the bed, holding the end of the chain fast in his hand. The other end of the chain was locked in a cuff around Matthew's foot, though Mathew tried to ignore it. At the least the cuff was lined with cloth so as not to chafe him. Arthur walked with him to the bathroom, and attached the chain to a hook inside the door. The bathroom was one of the only places Arthur didn't follow Mathew.

He hesitated at the edge of the toilet, then, as always, knelt, and forced his fingers down his throat. The food came up. When Mathew was quite sure that it was all gone he washed up, brushing his teeth, blowing his nose. By the time Arthur came for him, he had done his business and was freshened up again, as though nothing ever happened. "All done?" Arthur queried good-naturedly, and Mathew nodded. "Good boy." Arthur ruffled his hair, satisfied. "Let's go finish your lunch." Mathew managed a wry smile, but dipped his head and obediently followed.

After lunch, Arthur brought in a lamp, and allowed Mathew to read for a bit while he did his crossstitching. It was a nice feeling, a peaceful atmosphere with no-one but the two of them. In moments like these Mathew could almost forget why he spent his days in this dark room, or that he ever had a brother to begin with. Almost, but not quite. Mathew couldn't seem to focus on his reading, and all too soon his mind wandered off. He wondered mildly if his brother was happy now. He hadn't really seen or talked to him recently. He was sure that Alfred was mad at him.

Mathew had betrayed Alfred, after all. Alfred had begged Mathew to come with him, but Mathew had refused, too scared, too comfortable to leave. So Alfred had gone alone. And when Arthur had gone to get him back, it was Mathew who he brought with him, and Mathew who had helped to try and steal away his brother's freedom. He had seen the hurt in his brother's eyes when Alfred saw that he was supporting Arthur, and Mathew had turned his face away. In the end, Arthur had failed, and he and Mathew had gone home together, one brother short.

Which is, of course, why Mathew was sitting in a dark room, staring blankly at the same page he'd been reading for the past 20 minutes, with a chain on his ankle. He wondered if Alfred ever thought of him. The last time he had seen Alfred was shortly after the fight, when his brother had tried to force the door open to burst in and see Arthur. Arthur had been very sick then, mentally, and becuase of that, physically, and Mathew had done everything he could to chase Alfred away. Alfred had given him the same betrayed, pitying look he had given Mathew before, as though he was a child punching a firefighter saving him from a burning building.

As though Mathew were a bad boy. The thought made Mathew feel clammy and sick and he threw a cautious glance towards Arthur, obliviously absorbed in his work. Mathew remember the last time he'd been deemed a "bad boy" and his spine tightened, his back stinging with phantom welts. "Spare the rod, spoil the child." Arthur had always said, and he wasn't one to spare the rod. Mathew tried to chase the thought away.

After, Mathew was a good boy.


	3. Alfred isn't the bad boy

Alfred always thought he was a fairly good kid. Maybe not as much as his goody-two-shoes brother, but he was still relatively good. Even now, breaking into his old house, he didn't feel like he was being bad. After all, he did used to live here. He'd only come to visit his family. It couldn't be helped if they were out, he would just let himself in and wait till they got back. Or at least he thought they were out. Arthur's coat had been missing and his best shoes, so Arthur was definitely out. His brother hadn't answered the door when he knocked, so he'd assumed he was out too, but the voice singing an old French lullaby coming from Matthew's room was definitely his sibling's. 

Alfred bristled. Seriously? He was still doing that? Last time he had tried to visit, Mathew had refused to let him in, or even let him see Arthur, and he hadn't seen his brother since. At first Alfred thought Mathew felt guilty about betraying him. They had promised to leave together someday, but when that day came, his coward brother chickened out! Mathew had definitely felt guilty when he tried to make Alfred go back, refusing to meet his sibling's eyes, and rightly so. Not only had he broken their promise, he was doing the exact opposite! 

Alfred had known, of course, that Mathew would end up helping Arthur if he stayed, which is why he had insisted so hard Mathew come. He had reluctantly abandoned that hope when his brother made it clear he wasn't going, but it still frustrated him that Mathew had obediently followed Arthur's every order. The more he thought about it, the angrier he got. How come he got treated like the bad kid when all he wanted was some freedom, to not be stifled anymore? Wasn't Mathew worse then him for breaking their promise and their brotherly bond? 

Alfred had made himself quite angry by the time he reached his brothers room, and flung open the door roughly. He heard a crack as he flung it, and vaugely realized that the door had been locked, and his forceful entry had broken the lock. He didn't feel guilty at all though, it wasn't as though Mathew used the lock anyways. It was actually wierd for the door to be locked. The thoughts of the lock were chased out by the satisfaction Alfred felt at the look of shock and horror on his brother's face as he took in the new arrival. 

" _Alfred?"_ The blood drained out of Matthew's face. " _No, no, no_ , you can't be here!" Alfred scowled. "Nice to see you too, bro." He said sarcastically, throwing himself on his brother's bed. Mathew ignored him. "This is bad, this is really bad!" He glanced around Alfred and peered down the hall. "Did Arthur let you in?" He demanded. "He said he was going out!" Alfred almost overlooked the slightly panicky tone in Matthew's voice because of how insulted he felt. What gave Mathew the right to tell him he couldn't visit home?

He turned on his brother, but his angry berate died in his throat at the sound of clinking on the bed. "What? " He question, anger momentarily forgotten, throwing off the throw blanket covering Matthew's legs. His eyes traced the chain from his grasp to the footrest at the end of the bed. "Why is-" Alfred began again, growing more bewildered, but Matthew answered the question for him, leaping to his feet and rushing to close the door shut tightly, a clanking sound drawing Alfred's gaze to the chain around his brother's ankle. "Mattie..." Alfred used his brother's special nickname, now concerned instead of angry. 

Mathew shushed him quickly. "He's back!" Mathew hissed, terrified. He can't know you're here!" Mathew rushed back to the bed, tugging the blankets down on one side to cover the space beneath. "Hide!" He demanded, pushing Alfred down. Alfred resisted. "Mattie, what's going on?" he met his brother's wide and fearful eyes. "There's no time! Trust me Al, you don't want to be here!" Maybe it was the sense of foreboding that the ever nearing footsteps brought, or the fear in his brother's tone as he appealed to Alfred using the nickname only he used, but Alfred listened, slipping under the bed. "I'll make him leave the room, so then you should run while he's gone." Mathew whispered, then the handle on the door was turning and Alfred saw his former guardian's shiny black shoes enter the room. 

"Hello poppet, did you miss me?"


	4. Alfred is the good boy

Alfred didn't really understand why he was hiding under his brother's bed while his former caretaker fussed over his brother. "You look quite ill!" Arthur exclaimed, and Alfred could almost see Arthur lean over and place the back of his hand against Matthew's face, brow furrowed with concern. Alfred didn't understand why Athew was so frightened. Arthur didn't sound mad at all, in fact he sounder kinder and gentler than when Alfred had lived with him.

But Mathew responded in the super soft and quiet voice he only used when he was really upset, as though he wanted to disappear. He used to use this tone all the time whenever Alfred and Arthur fought, before Alfred finally left. "I'm fine." His voice was barely a breath, and Alfred had the strain to hear his voice. "I just need to use the bathroom." If Arthur thought anything was suspicious, his didn't say, and began fussing with the chains at the end of the bed. Alfred realized with a nauseous feeling that Arthur was unchaining Mathew from the bed.

That didn't make sense. Mathew was the good boy, the one who stayed by Arthur's side and did whatever he was told, like a lovesick puppy. Why would Arthur chain him up? Mathew slipped lightly off the bed, and shuffled through the door, his chain rattling. Alfred barely waited till they were out of the room to follow. He glanced down the hall where Arthur had his back to him, seemly chaining Mathew to the bathroom wall and his brother met his eyes, nervous and pale. "Go." Mathew mouthed, and Alfred disappeared around the corner, determined to come back at a later date to speak with his brother longer. He wandered, rather than hurrying, lingering by the table where they used to eat together, gazing at the portraits on the wall. He was almost out the door when he heard his name.

"Alfred, are you feeling better?" Alfred froze. Had he been discovered after all? Why was Mathew so scared, Arthur wasn't upset at all! But Arthur's voice was too far away to be directed at him, soft and distracted, not pointed and sharp. America peeked his head around the corner. Mathew was mumbling something in response that Alfred couldn't hear, then Arthur took his hand, as though he was a child, and started to lead him back to his room. Alfred ducked out of sight. He must have imagined it, there was no way Arthur could mistake sweet, meek Mathew for him.

"Come on, we can read Peter Pan, you used to love that book." Arthur tried to convince Mathew. Alfred frowned. Peter Pan was his favorite book growing up. Mathew's had been some French story Francis had given him when he still lived with him. Matthew's plaintive murmur was a little clearer this time, and America was able to hear it. "Arthur, can we please open the window, just for a little? I'll be a good boy, I promise." The words were pitiful and spoken as though Mathew had half given up hope already. Alfred was beginning to become very concerned.

What had happened since he left to make it so that Mathew was felt the need to ask to do something as little as open his own window? What happened to make his voice sound so small and broken? It wasn't as if Arthur would say no to such a small thing as that. But Arthur's next words, clear and scolding, and holding a line of warning in the tone that Alfred recognized so well, proved him wrong. "Absolutely not." What? Had Arthur gotten so old that having an open window would bug him to this extent? And what had Mathew done to warrant this tone?

Arthur's voice turned so cold that Alfred shivered from where he hid. "Alfred." He warned and Alfred was certain that Arthur had seen him, not that Alfred was afraid. Alfred was confident in the fact that Arthur had no control over him anymore. But Arthur was continuing, growing angrier, the calm kind of angry without shouting or yelling. The worst kind. "Alfred, how did the doorknob get broken?" Matthew's response was so quiet, Alfred wasn't sure that he had responded. "Im certain I locked this, so how come it is broken and open?" America frowned. Arthur was locking Mathew in his room to punish him? Why? Alfred couldn't remember the last time Mathew had made Arthur mad. 

Matthew's voice was nothing more than a high-pitched nervous mumble at this point. "Were you trying to go outside by yourself again?" Arthur's voice was reaching a crescendo, gradually getting louder while still not yelling. Alfred was realizing for the first time that something was seriously wrong here, putting each liltlte thing together. Mathew was more than old enough to go outside by himself. Mathew responded, panicked and forceful "No! I-" but his defense was broken by a sharp, resounding slap. 

Alfred realized with a shock, that Mathew, the good boy, had just been slapped.


	5. Mathew isn't the good boy

At the slap, Mathew turned to stone. To flinch or pull away would make it worse, he knew. He was babbling, he knew, pointless excuses that fell on deaf ears, his own and Arthur's. His pleaded excuses faded out. Both of them knew that there was nothing Mathew could say to get out of it. 

He was pitifully grateful he had sent Alfred away when he did, that at the very least, his brother was long gone and couldn't see what Mathew was reduced to. "Come." Arthur demanded in a single icy word, and Obediently Mathew stumbled after him. His resolution lasted until the top of the basement stairs, then for the first time, Mathew balked, turning tremulous eyes to Arthur, afraid and desperate. "Arthur..." He knew his fingers were shaking and he cursed himself for his weakness, wishing he were stronger like Alfred. "Please, I don't want to go to the basement!" He pleaded, but Arthur's icy calm look didn't flinch.

"You should have thought about that earlier before you were a bad boy." Arthur responded, yanking the chain and Mathew quickly caught himself before he fell down the stairs. His heart was hammering away in his chest, and his lips and fingers felt numb, but Mathew didn't try to bargain any further. He knew it was too late as soon as Arthur had deemed him a bad boy. So when Arthur demanded he strip off his shirt, Mathew didn't argue. He had learned the first time that arguing made it worse. He had to be careful not to infuriate Arthur further.

He didn't need the instructions from Arthur to place his hands on the bar, nor did he flinch when Arthur cuffed him to the bar so he couldn't run like last time. He didn't have to look to know the shuffling sound was Arthur getting out the cane. Mathew tried to remember not to tense up, that it would hurt more if he did, but his body wouldn't listen to him. He formed a mantra inside his head, a repeating playlist of just one sentence. "I'm not a bad boy." and the cane came swishing down.

Arthur was methodical, and not excessive. He never once had gone too far, to the point to be considered abuse, stopping at a set amount, with even and painful blows, but not heavy and malicious. It was nothing more than a punishment, nothing more. But still, Mathew didn't think he deserved this. "I'm not a bad boy." He told himself in barely a murmur, trying not to arch and twist under the blows, barely biting back his cries of pain. Tears leaked from the corner of his eyes. "I'm not a bad boy." But then why was he being punished? There must be a reason. It was because Mathew had let Alfred into his room, hidden him from Arthur.

Because good boys don't lie and hide things. Mathew tried to form the words "I'm not a bad boy." but this time they faltered on his lips, perhaps due to the cries from every time the cane connected with his back, perhaps because of the lump in his throat. "I'm not... " The blows stopped, and Matthew's legs gave out beneath him, and he slid to the floor, panting and gasping though the tears. The cuffs were unlocked and his hands slid down, bruised around the wrists. "Are you ready to be a good boy?" His discipliner asked, crouching down to meet Matthew's eyes. Mathew choked on his saliva, but managed to force the words out. "I'll be a good boy." Arthur's gaze softened and he pulled Matthew's limp form into his arms. "There, there, love, we've learned our lesson. If you're good we'll never have to come down here again."

He knew better than to resist, that even a slightest stiffening might be misread as him "not learning his lesson" and then the discipline would continue. So Mathew lay limp. "I'm sorry." Mathew murmured, forcing out the words. "I'm sorry." And he was sorry. Sorry for not being enough as "Mathew." Sorry for not being Alfred. Arthur promised forgiveness, pulling Matthew's head against his shoulders. Matthew's eyes continued to leak, but Mathew himself made no sound. Mathew wondered what he had done to deserve this. Why couldn't he ever be a match for Alfred? Even as Alfred's stand-in, he still fell short. His eyes drooped with the stress of recent events and exhaustion, both from the beating and his own cries.

Everything faded to black, and Mathew, the bad boy, fell asleep.


	6. Mathew is a bad boy

Mathew didn't wake up till 8 the next morning. Arthur dozed nearby in the armchair, but Matthew's shuffling woke him up. "Good Morning, Arthur." Mathew greeted politely. "Good Morning Alfred." Arthur's greeting was as light and casual as though yesterday had never happened. Mathew reflected that maybe it hadn't, maybe it had all been a crazy dream. Maybe he had fallen asleep and dreamed that he saw Alfred , that he has upset Arthur, and been punished. But no, the sharp pain on his back was testament to yesterday's events.

Mathew didn't mention what had happened yesterday, nor did England, but he noticed the lock was replaced with a sturdier one, and a deadbolt had been added to the top of the door, only accesable from the outside. Even this much wasn't strange, not since Alfred left, but today, everything seemed to weigh down on Mathew, and he felt like he was drowning. There was a lump of something bitter in his throat, something he recognized but couldn't name. Mathew thought about all the times he had blamed Alfred for his situation. He had told himself time and time again, that he was a "good boy" and the one at fault was Alfred. But Mathew was beginning to realized that Alfred wasn't the bad boy.

Alfred had been right to leave. He had asked Mathew to come with him, told him the dangers and pleaded with him, and Mathew had stubbornly refused. He had broken his childhood promise with Alfred, and this was his punishment. Because Alfred had been right, and Arthur's controlling behaviour had gotten worse. It was because Mathew ignored his brother and didn't go he was chained here. It was his punishment for trying to force Alfred to come back, all to please his guardian, and his punishment for failing. It was because he hadn't taken Alfred home that he had to become Alfred.

The punishments -the thought came to him with a sudden shock- the punishments were his fault. Because Mathew had tried to run, Mathew had tried to avoid his punishment, had spoken back to Arthur, and this time he had hidden his brother and lied. Each and every punishment had a reason.

Mathew was on fire, his skin burning. He barely heard Arthur's concerned tone, or felt the cool hand on his forehead. He was dimly aware of Arthur's worried exclamation, his repeated calling of Alfred's name, but all was lost in the shock of the revelation he had. Mathew wasn't the good boy. He felt himself fall back on the bed, but even though his back hit the mattress, he still kept falling, sheets wrapping around him. There was a murky darkness, a smothering feeling, and Mathew struggled to take a deep breath. There was the distant sound of voices, echoing around him.

"-burning up!" One declared, and Mathew felt he should recognize that proper tone. "The hell did you do?" another snapped, furiously. Mathew tired to focus, but he didn't know what to focus on. He felt heavy and he tried to shift his positions, but froze at the clinking sound. Chains. Slowly Mathew became aware of the reason for the weight, the difficulty in breathing. He was covered in thousands of heavy chains. With great difficulty, he sat up, or at least which way he though "up" was in the darkness. 

"Alfred!" a voice was calling, and Mathew turned to look, almost on instinct. Why was he looking? He wasn't Alfred. Or was he? He was so confused. "Alfred!" the voice called again. "Come to Arthur!" And there was Alfred, running to be held in Arthur's arms, but not the Alfred Mathew knew. A younger Alfred from a long time ago. And where was Mathew? Ah, there. His younger self was standing a step behind Arthur, barely seen and fidgiting, but to the younger Arthur and Alfred, he was non-existent. The scene changed, and there was Alfred, more recent, standing rebeliously against Arthur in the rain. "Alfred!" Arthur half demanded, half pleaded, exhaustion in his tone, "Come back to me!" 

Alfred stayed cold. "Never." And where was Mathew now? Ah, there he was, behind Arthur, as always, just a step behind, but completely invisible. Then Alfred was gone and it was just Arthur, looking down at Mathew. But that wasn't right, Arthur never looked directly at Mathew. "Arthur, you're confused!" the other Mathew pleaded. "I'm Mathew not Alfred!" Arthur's response came with the swish of the cane. "You're being a very bad boy, Alfred. And bad boys need to be punished."


	7. Alfred is the bad boy

When Alfred heard Arthur slap Mathew, his feet reacted on his own. Not running towards his brother to protect him as he should, but away. There was a disgusting feeling in his gut, one that made him want to puke. His legs carried him on a memory to hiding place in the garden he had hidden in since he was a child, and he let his legs collapse to gather his thoughts. Slowly, one by one, Alfred put the puzzle pieces together. 

Matthew's refusal to let Alfred see Arthur, his panic upon seeing Alfred today. The muted fear in his eyes and voice when his brother spoke to Arthur, the chains and the locks. The name which Arthur called Mathew by. His name. Alfred fell the bile rising in his throat as he realized the truth, and this time he did puke, emptying the contents of his stomach into the bushes. For a moment he knelt there, reeling.

Alfred never doubted his decisions. Every move he made, every step he took, he was confident in. When he made up his mind to leave, he had been expecting Mathew to come too, but he knew, regardless of what his brother did, that he would leave. Even after he left, there hadn't been a single day where he doubted his decision. Alfred had known he wasn't wrong, and remained unaffected by Arthur's scolding, crying, yelling and cajoling. Because Alfred was co fident that he wasn't a bad boy. He was a good boy, the hero. And yet, for the first time in his life, Alfred doubted his desicion.

Was it his fault because he left? Had he caused this by abandoning his family? Maybe Mathew had been right, and if they stayed together everything would be fine. Maybe it was because he kept trying to visit, forcing himself in on a situation where he was unwanted, ignoring Matthew's pleas. Was it because he threw a huge celebration once he left Arthur's house? Had the sight of the fireworks brought Arthur over the edge, a step too far? Maybe, everything Alfred had done he thought was good, was bad. Maybe Alfred wasn't the hero, but the villian. Maybe he was never a good boy. Maybe Alfred was the bad boy all along, and he'd just been lying to himself all along.

For the first time since he left his guardian's house, Alfred cried. He cried for the times he'd left behind, the childhood memories, both good and bad, with his brother and his guardian. He cried for the people he'd left behind. He cried for Arthur's twisted obsessive behavior, his inability to accept a loss, and he cried for Mathew, having to bear it. He cried for Mathew having to act as his stand in, and bearing the punishment Alfred should have born. He cried for the empty look in Arthur's eyes, and the dying look in Matthew's. 

Mostly, Alfred cried out of fear. He was afraid of what was happening, how his family were hurting themselves and eachother, and he was afraid of what he had to do to fix it. He was afraid of a possible future where Alfred was in Matthew's place, bearing the punishment that he should, à future where he lost his freedom. He was afraid of a possible future where Mathew stayed where he was, a future where he lost his brother, perhaps forever. He was afraid of a future where Arthur stayed this twisted broken stranger, a puppet reenacting memories from the past, or a future where he became worse.

Alfred was afraid of a future that might lose them both. Even after the tears dried up, and nothing came to his eyes anymore, his shoulder continued to shake, no longer with the force of the sobs, but with the weight of uncertainty. It was a long time until Alfred's shoulders stopped shaking, though at that time Alfred was already unconscious, having cried himself to sleep in the hollow behind the hedges, less than 15 feet from where the very person he was hiding from was tucking his unconscious twin into bed. 

Alfred, the bad boy, slept badly that night.


	8. Alfred isn't the Good boy

Alfred was awakened by a concerned gardener leaning over him, who offered a nervous smile and an apology for waking him. "Beg pardon, lad, sorry to disturb you when you looked so comfortable, only its not safe to sleep here, so I figured I should warn you." He offered, cautiously eyeing his surroundings. Alfred lept to his feet, embarrassed, muttering an apology, not fully awake yet. The man chuckles amicably. "No worries, just the gentleman who lives here is rather the dangerous sort, better not to upset him." "What do mean by that?" Alfred questioned, feeling a sinking feeling in his gut, now fully awake and bliking the crusties out of his swollen eyes.

"Oh you haven't heard?" Another gardener put in, all too happy to share her knowledge. "That man is off his rocker." She confinded. More gardeners were gathering, each wanting to share their own stories. "he had these two kids and he lost one on them is what I heard." one man put in helpfully. "drowning or kidnapping or sumthin." "Well regardless, its driven him right mad." Another agreed. "That poor boy." the second gardener cut back in. "We sometimes hear him crying and pleading something fierce, though we've never seen him." The first gardener shifted, looking uncomfortable with the gossip he had unwittingy started, but didn't say anything, only threw a nervous glance to the house.

Alfred was feeling overwhelmed, dizzied by the stories nature. "my sister is a maid," one of the gardeners spoke up excitedly, caught in the power of a story. "an she says the other brother ran away and left the other behind. Now that gentleman has got them all mixed up in his head, and can't tell the difference." "Well good for him!" one of the gardeners cheered. "Getting out of that house was a good move." the other gardeners agreed, nodding. 

"My sister says that boy is locked in his room all day, and no-one sees him any more," The gardener with the maid sister continued, fanned by the reponse to the gossip. "and she said before that, when that gentleman first started going insane, that boy used to try and say he wasn't his brother and the gentleman just beat him till he stopped!" he looked triumphantly at the various faces of shock and rapt attention. Alfred swayed on his feet." You all right, lad? " The first gardener asked, concerned, and for the first time the others realized the pale complexion of the boy, and exchanged guilty looks.

"That boy, the one who ran away," Alfred began shakily, trying to keep his feet planted firmly on the ground, painstakingly aware of the gardener's steady arm supporting him, "Was it his fault this all happened? It is because he ran away?" The other gardeners took a step back, collectively, seeming to grow paler, and Alfred wondered if they had figured him out. Was it because they knew Alfred wasn't a good boy, that he had caused this, that they retreated? But the hand on his elbow remained steady, and the gardener by his side responded with such a matter of fact tone, that Alfred found himself believing them.

"Of course not." The man said confidently. "you can't control other people. What happened was neither of those boy's faults, and I wager a fair bit is the guardian's fault instead." He shook his head. "That boy may have started the ball rolling, but the ball was already at the at the top of the hill, just waiting for a push." He patted Alfred on the shoulder, then released his arm, reaching for a rake, and shooing the other gardeners away. Alfred was startled to find his feet supporting him solidly. "Wait!" He called after the quickly disperising gardeners, only the two original left now. The man ignored him, ambling on his way, but other gardener stopped, turning to him briefly, a conflicted look on her face. 

"That boy, what does he need to do to fix things?" Alfred asked desperately, sweat beading on his face. The woman gave him an uncertain look. "sweetie, you're a good boy, but I'm not sure anything can fix them now." she hesitated for a moment. "But they won't get anywhere without talking, that's for sure." She threw one more uncertain look Alfred's way, then gathered her pruning shears and disappeared among the hedges. 

"I'm not a good boy." Alfred whispered after her in a sort of belated refusal to bear that title. But even so, he felt stronger, and no longer felt sick. Because now he knew what he had to do. Alfred took a step towards the house confidently.


	9. Mathew, The good boy

Mathew didn't know how long he'd been sitting in the darkness. There was a sound of the door opening, and Arthur took shape in the dark, carrying a plate of food. "Alfred, I've brought you some food." Mathew bit back a whine, he felt queasy at the thought of eating. "What's the point if it will all come back up?" He thought to himself tiredly. There was something about that thought that was inherently wrong, Mathew knew, but he couldn't put his finger on it. Already he was forgetting what he was thinking about.

"Alfred!" Arthur called for his attention, but Arthur's voice was strange, faint and warped, as though spoken from a bottom of a lake, far away. "Be a good boy." Arthur demanded, his voice snapped back into the present only a little away from Mathew, and Mathew leaned to accept the food, whatever it was slipping down his throat and leaving a strange medicinal taste behind. "Good boy." Arthur purred, pulling Mathew into his arms, and suddenly Mathew was panicking, thrashing to get out of Arthur's arms. "I'm not a good boy." He murmured, his lips moving but the words coming out a jumbled mess, sound too far away again, leaving a vibrating in his chest and a dryness in his throat that wasn't there before.. 

"Alfred!" Arthur called from far away again, and Mathew responded, this time the words came light and easy, clearly. "I'm here, Arthur." But Arthur was turning and hugging someone else, laughing and free. Who was it? There was an echoey disoriented voice somewhere far away. "... Losing him!.. Won't.. Wake.." Mathew ignored the voice, focused on the boy his guardian was hugging. The blond hair, the build, - the boy turned to face him - even the face, was Matthew's. "me?" He wondered, shaken. But no, the boy was too cheerful, too bouncy and excitable. Too noticeable. Again, Arthur called from the bottom of the lake. "Alfred!"

"That's right." Mathew remembered. That boy was Alfred. But then.. Who was he? He was called Alfred too, wasn't he? "Please don't leave me again!" Arthur pleaded, and Mathew tried to jump up and run to him, to tell him he was there, but was stopped short. There was an echoey thump, shouting, like there was a fight somewhere far away. Mathew turned to see what was stopping him from going to Arthur. A long chain twisted around Matthew's ankle, disapearing into the dark. No, it wasn't just his ankle, Mathew realized. He was covered with chains, weighing him down, suffocating him.

He tried to call to Arthur but the words cracked and died on his throat. Arthur didn't turn to look. There was a muffled shouting in the background, a voice calling a naem he couldn't quite hear. Mathew sank to his feet, but his eyes caught something, a glimmer of blue, peaking out behind Arthur's shoulder. "Alfred." The name croaked from his lips, broken and raspy, but it felt right. He knew, without a doubt, that this was Alfred. Then Alfred was breaking free from Arthur's arms, running towards him with his hand outstretched, his lips forming words Mathew couldn't hear.

Then he could, as though a sound proof barrier had broken and the lake was all drained away, mathew hear the name Alfred was calling clearly. "Mathew!" He realized with a shock that it was his name. His name was Mathew, not Alfred. Mathew reached for his brother's outstretched arm and miraculously, the chains broke free, and his hand connected, and suddenly he thought he could feel, really feel, Alfred's hand, sweaty and warm and gripping his hand so tightly. And Alfred was speaking to him, looking right at him, not past him or through him, but at him, begging him to look at Alfred in return. "Please, Mattie, open your eyes!" was there desperation in his voice? But Matthew's eyes were open? 

But Alfred begged again. "Mattie please!" and when Mathew blinked, he found it suddenly hard to open his eyes, bright light blinding him. He almost shut them tight again, but he caught a glimpse of a face, blotched and tearstained, but smiling nonetheless, the same blue eyes from his dream meeting his. "Al." the word came out a cracked sound, and Mathew realized he was thirsty. Alfred pulled his brother up into a hug, and Mathew leaned into his brother. It was a dream, he knew, because Alfred left home, and beside, he wasn't allowed to have the window open, and yet there it was, thrown open, light spilling in from outside, and here was Alfred, holding Mathew tight. 

If it was a dream, there was something Mathew wanted to do, more than anything. He looked over Alfred's shoulder and came eye to eye with Arthur, who had a huge bruise growing on one cheek. "Arthur," Mathew croaked, forcing the words past his dry throat, desperation in his tone. "I'm not Alfred."

Arthur's green eyes filled with tears, spilling over and rolling down his cheeks, and Arthur managed an almost-smile as he responded. 

"I know, Mathew."


	10. Alfred, the good boy

Alfred hesitated at the door, hand raised to knock on it. Thousands of excuses for why he shouldn't knock, why he should leave, ran through his mind, but Alfred pushed them away. The memory of the slapping sound seemed to reverberate in his head. Alfred was a hero. He always had been. So if he couldn't muster the courage for his own sake, then it was for Matthew's sake that he knocked. The sound was loud, echoing through the house. No one came to open the door.

Alfred 's eyes twitched, growing a little irritated. Mathew was still trying to keep him away, Arthur was replacing him, and now he was being ignored? The more he thought about it, the more frustrated he got. Why did he have to wait outside for someone to let him in? He used to live here! And with that, Alfred found the spare key, hidden in the same place as always, and like yesterday, he let himself in.

It was quiet inside. Too quiet. Arthur had always been an early riser, he should be awake. Alfred had a feeling he knew where he was. His confidence was returning to him with every step, and by the time he reached Matthew's room and flung the door open, he was as confident as the day his first turned heel on Arthur and walked away. He threw the door open ready to face his guardian, and fight him if he needed. He didn't expect to see Arthur leaning over his feverish brother, calling his name with concern.

"Alfred!" Arthur pleaded. "Alfred, please, wake up! Don't leave me again!" If Alfred hadn't been so scared by the panic in Arthur's tone and the heavy flush to his unconscious brother's face, he might have punched Arthur for insisting on calling Mathew "Alfred". "What's going on?" Alfred demanded. Arthur was too distracted to register his guest properly. "Get me a cool wet cloth," He demanded, hand on Matthew's forehead. "He's burning up!" Alfred was horrified. Mathew had been fine less than 12 hours ago. "What the hell did you do?"

The words slipped out more accusatory than he meant, but Arthur didn't even acknowledge them. "The cloth, now!" And partly from instinctual reaction to the tone used, and partially from a deep worry for his brother, Alfred did as he was asked. It was after the cool cloth was laid on Matthew's forehead that Arthur finally looked at Alfred. Alfred waited for the shock of recognition, the reaction, but there was none. Arthur starred at him with a blank familiarity, as though he knew Alfred and didn't find it strange for him to be there, but didn't quite process who he was. 

The lack of reaction scared Alfred almost as much as his brother's laboured breathing. "Watch him," Arthur ordered, getting to his feet. "He needs medicine." And before Alfred could protest or respond, Arthur was gone, disapearing around the corner. Mathew shifted the tiniest bit in his sleep, and there was a clinking sound, reminding Alfred of the cuff. Suddenly he was furious again, and Alfred needed to get the cuff off. It should never had been there. Not on Mathew, the good boy.

He went for the cuff with a desperation. It was locked, but on closer inspection, was made with weak craftsmanship, the only thing holding the hinges together was a single pin, easily removable. Alfred's heart sunk a little as he pulled out the pin with a swift tug and the cuff fell open. There was no way Mathew hadn't noticed the obvious weakness, and that meant here was only two reasons he hadn't already removed his chains.

The first being that even if Mathew had removed the chain, he knew he wouldn't be able to escape. The second reason being that for some reason Mathew didn't want to escape. Both reasons made Alfred want to cry. Arthur returned in a bustle, medicine in hand. Arthur saw the open cuff, and for a moment, he froze. Alfred glared at him challengingly. There was a flash of something in Arthur's eyes, and then he moved on, coaxing Mathew to drink the medicine.

In a slightly spiteful act, Alfred took advantage of the distraction to fling open the locked window, taking special pleasure in breaking the lock, letting light spill into the room. Arthur blinked in the sudden sunlight, but made no other reaction, tipping a spoonfull of medicine down Matthew's throat. Good boy." He approved, as Mathew swallowed, and Mathew muttered something incomprehensible, thrashing in his sleep, before going limp again.

Alfred's heart sped up as he realized he might not see his brother again.


	11. Alfred, the hero

After taking the medicine, Mathew went from bad to worse. Alfred was sure it was Arthur's fault. "Alfred, Alfred," Arthur half crooned, half begged, smoothing the hair from his forehead. Everytime Arthur called his name, Mathew seemed to flinch in his sleep. His breathing was shallower now, and he was still steadily getting warmer. It wasn't until Arthur checked the thermometre and murmured a weak "Oh dear." That Alfred took over. He leaned over and pulled the thermometre out of Arthur's hands, gasping at the temperature displayed. "100.5 degrees?" He read out loud in horror. A fever this high was hospital worthy!

"Fuck!" Alfred swore, suddenly, angrily. Arthur jumped. Alfred pored over his brother, desperately, looking for a sign of consciousness. "We're losing him!" Alfred realized, and his heart raced. He'd never wanted to leave his brother behind, even when he left the house, and now his stubborn brother was trying to leave him behind. "Like hell I'll let you!" Alfred growled to himself, masking his fear in anger. He shook Mathew, gently, but his brother didn't respond at all. "Dammit, Mattie, why won't you wake up?" Mathew didn't answer. He didn't need to. Alfred knew the reason.

"Alfred!" Arthur called again, taking Matthew's hand again. Again Mathew flinched, and Alfred turned on him. "It's your fault! You did this to him!" If he hadn't been so afraid for his brother, Alfred might have been gentler with his words. As it was, he had too much to say to Arthur and was too angry to hold back. "It's things like this which is exactly why I left home!" America snapped, getting more and more upset as he spoke. "You're a control freak and you don't even care about what you're doing to us as long as you get your way!" Arthur faltered, an uncertain light in his eyes, but Alfred was too far gone to stop there.

"Look what you did!" He snapped, waving his hand at his unconscious sibling. "You were so obsessed wtth getting your way that you're _killing_ Mattie! I hope that's what you wanted!" Arthur flinched and followed Alfred's vehement gesture to the bed, where he seemed to see Alfred's sibling for the first time, flushed and feverish and struggling for breath. For a moment Alfred thought that he'd managed to get through to Arthur finally, that his guardian might actually see. Arthur caught his breath with a shallow gasp, horrified eyes taking in the scene as though for the first time.

" _Alfred._ " He breathed, and that was the last straw. Alfred didn't make the conscious decision to punch Arthur. One moment he was seeing red and the next Arthur tumbled to the floor with his hand to his cheek. Alfred wasn't sure if he would have stopped at just one punch, but the hoarse voice calking his name from the bed drew his attention. "Alfred." Matthew said, mostly unconscious,, and Alfred stopped shaking his stinging hand and rushed to the bedside, grabbing Matthew's hand in his own sweaty hand. "Mattie!"

Matthew's fingers twitched in Alfred's hand, beads of sweat forming on his forehead, but there was no other response. Alfred wasn't about to give up. "Mathew!" He called again, slightly demanding. He tried to send out a message to his brother in thst one word. _I'm here, I see **you.**_ For a moment nothing happened, and Alfred was opening his mouth to try again, swallowing past the lump in his throat, when Matthew's hand closed around his own. "Mattie?" He searched his brother's face and saw reactions, muscles twitching, but the eyes stayed closed.

"Please, Mattie, open your eyes!" He begged, and his brother's brow furrowed, but the eyes still stayed closed. In that moment, Alfred knew he would give anything, sacrifice anything, to save his brother. He begged again, a broken note added to his desperation. "Mattie, please." _Don't leave me alone._ The swollen eyes blinked open, suddenly, and Alfred just barely had time to register the purple-blue of his brother's eyes before they were squinting in the bright sun. "Al." Matthew's lips curled up into the slightest bit of a smile, and Alfred pulled him up into a hug, hiding his tears on Matthew's shoulders.

In his whole life, Alfred couldn't think of a moment where he'd been happier.


	12. Arthur was the bad boy

Arthur had been dreaming for a long time. No, not dreaming, playacting. It had taken a punch to the jaw before he woke up. The doll that had been playing Alfred lay broken on the bed, barely breathing and unresponsive. Alfred had stood over him, real and full of rage, nothing like the imitation. "Look what you did!" Alfred had spat, his tone angry, but he looked on the verge of tears. In all the years Arthur had known Alfred, since he was only a child, he'd never seen the boy look as weak and helpless as he did then.

Mathew had looked worse. His eyes were red and swollen shut, his face blotched and flushed with fever, sweat forming on his brow and matting his hair. Surrounded by the piles of blankets and pillows, he looked tiny, much smaller than Alfred, thin, and weak. It was terrifying. Arthur brought his hands to his mouth, feeling nauseated, memories that meant nothing to him moments before now crushingly heavy. How had he ever mistaken Mathew for Alfred? Is that how he would have treated Alfred too, if he had managed to bring him back that time? 

It was Matthew who saved Arthur from another blow to the face as he murmured in his sleep, and this time, his words weren't a jumbled mess, but a single clear word. "Alfred". 

Alfred forgot about punching Arthur in the face and dropped to his brother's side, one hand gripping Matthew's tightly ans begging, in a tone that Arthur had never heard him use before, actually _begging,_ for Mathew to open his eyes. For a moment Arthur felt the same panic as Alfred, a terrifying thought swirlin in his head. _What if Mathew never woke up and it was all his fault?_ Then, miraculously, the eyes blinked open, swollen and red against his pale and drawn skin. 

It was clear that Mathew was disoriented, gazing about the room like he had never seen it before, blinking at the bright light from the window. Alfred gave a choked half-sob, gathering his brother into his arms, and for a moment, Mathew leaned into it happily. It was a foreign scene to Arthur, and he tried to remember the last time he'd seen Alfred and Mathew like that. Or even just the last time he'd seen Mathew at all. There was something sinking in his stomach, heavy and more painful than the punch to the face had been. Once again he was hit with an overwhelming guilt as he realized again that _he did this._ He was supposed to protect and love the two boys, to make them happy. Instead he'd almost broken both of them.

Mathew wiggled desperately in Alfred's arms, peeking over his brother's shoulder as though he had something he desperately needed to do. He met Arthur's gaze over Alfred's shoulders, and as though possessed, unable to hold the words back, Mathew blurted out "Arthur, I'm not Alfred." This was how Arthur knew Mathew wasn't fully recovered yet, and the combination of the guilt from the words, the sickening memories of what he had done, and the fear when he realized that he might have already broken Mathew far too much, all brought him to the verge of tears. Arthur wanted to turn tail and run and never look back.

But Arthur didn't, he'd been running away for way too long. So he forced what he hoped was a loving smile onto his face and met desperate gaze staring at him. His mouth felt like it was full of cotton, but he forced the words out. The words he refused to say all this time. "I know, Mathew." There was a trickling feeling on his cheeks, and Arthur realized he was crying, and he rubbed at his cheeks to wipe the tears away, blinking to clear his eyesight. He wanted to see Matthew's face clearly when he saw his response, while he was in his right mind this time. Mathew smiled, a beam almost equal to Alfred's signature beam, although the other boy wore no grin at all in this moment.

Alfred kept his face buried in Matthew's shoulder, but Arthur knew both boys, he'd raised them both from infancy, and he knew that Alfred was crying. He didn't try to comfort him. He wasn't sure he could. He settled for casting a loving glance at Mathew, strained with guilt. Then Matthew's purple eyes slid closed once more and he went limp, the slightest smile remaining on his face. Alfred immediately panicked. Arthur moved for the first time, prying Matthew's shoulder from Alfred's grip as he shook them, saving Mathew.

"It's all right." He found himself saying to calm Alfred, and frowned at his words. It wasn't alright. "It will be all right." He ammended, tucking Mathew back in and wiping the sweat from his forehead. Alfred looked about to punch him in the face again, so Arthur hurriedly explained. "He's sweating, it means the fever broke. He's just exhausted, all we have to do is let him sleep." He brushed stray curl from Matthew's forhead."You're a Good boy." He whispered to Mathew, wishing he could undo all those times he claimed otherwise, take back the words said, undo the damaged done. All this time, it had neither been Alfred nor Mathew who was a bad boy.

The bad boy had been Arthur the whole time.


	13. Arthur wants to be good boy

The recovery was slow and painful. The broken line in the family was no longer invisible, laid out for all to see clearly for the first time. Alfred glared at Arthur dangerously every time he saw him, and Arthur hadn't missed the way Alfred always placed himself between Arthur and Mathew whenever they were in the same room, as though ready to step in if he deemed Mathew to be in any danger again. Mathew seemed to have lost his voice completely whenever Arthur entered the room, using Alfred as his voice instead, gripping his sheets or Alfred's shirt in his fist and mumbling words in such a low tone that no sound eemed to come out at all. Alfred would listen closely and relay whatever he thought Mathew had said, usually adding a sharp comment of his own to the end. 

At first, Mathew had been confused when he woke up. It had taken several days for him to finally accept that this wasn't a dream, but reality, and once he did, he had turned pale, and his voice seemed to die. Arthur had noticed, sadly, the way Mathew flinched when he entered the room, eyes sliding away to look anywhere but Arthur. The guilt that built in his throat was choking, but Arthur had no intention to make-believe that feeling guilty was enough to erase his past. Arthur wanted to run and hide, to completely disappear multiple times. Alfred wouldn't let him.

Whenever Arthur began to slip away from his reality, eyes glazing as he pictured a better world, or whenever Alfred thought he needed humbling, Alfred made quick use of his fist, bringing Arthur back to reality, and usually to his knees as well. Arthur was pitifully grateful for those blows, and accepted each one quietly, thankful for the punishment for his actions, though he knew no amount of blows could atone for his crime. Alfred seemed to realize this, running to Mathew after every confrontation, as though seeking confirmation, a sign he had done right. Arthur didn't know whether or not Mathew gave him it.

The broken line in the sand was laid clearly between each family member, but it was far from repaired. Everyday felt like they were walking on glass, and Arthur knew that he was waiting for the glass to shatter, for someone to lose it and it and have the walls come crashing down. He had expected it would be him, fleeing the house to never return, or Alfred, finally snapping, that would shatter the glass in a single explosion of anger. He hadn't expected it to be Mathew. He should have. It started with him overhearing Matthew's murmur to Alfred as he raised his hand to knock and enter. He hesitated though, at Alfred's response. "You're not a bad boy Mattie!" He argued, earnest and choking. "It's not me either." A intellible murmur from Mathew, and a confident response from Alfred. "Arthur, of course."

This time Arthur did hear Matthew's reply, still whispered, but no longer mumbled. "But he did it because he loves you." The broken tone Mathew murmured that in caused Arthur to drop his hand and back away slowly. Alfred missed the heart of the issue with his response. "That's not an excuse." Arthur had retreated with a pounding head, understanding. Matthew's words had given him a clue on why the house remained so broken, but knowing the answer wasn't the same as fixing it. "He did it because he loves _you._ " Mathew had said. __Arthur had noticed the inflection. He knew he needed to talk to Mathew, but that proved easier said than done. Alfred played the guard dog well, and when Alfred was in the room, Matthew resorted to using Alfred as his loudspeaker.

The chance came when Alfred returned back to his home to change and get some more clean clothes, before he returned. He had warned Arthur away from talking to Mathew before he left. Arthur didn't even wait for the door to close behind Alfred before seeking out Mathew in his room. Mathew was still bedridden, though technically recovered, he claimed to feel to week to get up for any long periods of time, and always returned to the bed. "Alfred." He had greeted quietly, picking at his blanket, when Arthur entered the room. "Not this time." Arthur's soft response made Mathew flinch, realizing who was there in his room, alone with him. Arthur left the door open. "We need to talk." He said softly. Mathew fidgeted harder but didn't argue.

"I'm sorry." For maybe the thousandth time since Arthur came to his senses, he said the words, spoken sincerely. But too many times to have meaning all the same. Arthur knew better than to ask for forgiveness. He didn't deserve it. Mathew flinched again, returning the words in a tired mumble. Arthur knew from that alone that Mathew would never be the same again.


	14. Mathew,  the strongest

Alfred had returned faster than he thought, a sense of foreboding driving him. It only grew when he realized Arthur was nowhere to be seen. He tracked him to Matthew's room, furious, but the words from the room stopped him in his track partway down the hall. Matthew's words, though spoken in a low tone, were clear and carried. "I know you don't want to see me anymore." The resigned tone that Alfred had grown to expect seemed to be even more tired and hopeless than before. Alfred's urge to deck Arthur only grew stronger. What the hell had his guardian done to Mathew in the short amount of time he'd been gone? 

Arthur's voice protested, but Mathew cut him off, his voice flat, without inflections. "You never come visit unless Alfred is here." "That-" Arthur started to argue, then stopped. "Does he make you visit me?" Mathew continued, and there was a hard line in his voice now, just barely noticeable under his forced empty tone. "You don't have to come. I've told him to stop." For the first time, it occurred to Alfred that his attempts to protect his brother had only made things worse.

Yes, it had kept Mathew sad from any physical harm, Alfred had been able to monitor that Arthur didn't hurt his brother further emotionally, that Arthur wouldn't call him "Alfred" again, but all he had done was prevent future harm. Because of his interference, the old wounds had festered instead of healed. Once again, Alfred had hurt his brother. He sank to his heels, burying his head in his hands. He was just like Arthur. Arthur responded to Matthew's accusation, laying Alfred's actions out in a kinder way. "I've never been forced. Alfred has requested I don't speak to you alone." Alfred hadn't asked Arthur anything. He'd ordered it. "He wants to protect you." _From me._ Arthur didn't say those words. He didn't need to.

Alfred knew this was a private moment, something he shouldn't listen too, but even so, he couldn't allow himself to move. He was supposed to be the hero, so why couldn't he save his brother? "Then why?" The hard line in Matthew's tone was joined by a note of desperation. "Because I wanted to talk to you." Was Arthur's simple reply. Mathew's façade broke, and his tone betrayed the anger he'd been refusing to show. "You don't need to talk to me anymore! I'm not Alfred you know!" The missing piece of the puzzle fell into place for Alfred. Of course. Mathew had never been Arthur's favorite, they both knew it. He was usually forgotten, and sometimes scolded in Alfred's place. The terrible thing Arthur had done to him was probably the first time he'd received so much attention from Arthur, and the thought was sickening to Alfred. 

The reason Mathew hadn't run away, even though he easily could have removed the cuff, even though he knew he could always run to Alfred, the reason he had refused to go with Alfred in the first place became painfully clear. Even his brother's first words upon waking up, it had always been obvious, Alfred had only refused to see it. Mathew had wanted Arthur to see only him, for once. To dote on him, to talk to him, to love him in the way Arthur had loved Alfred. To the point he had allowed abuse, emotional and physical, even to the point of being Alfred, just for the attention. But even then, Arthur hadn't seen "Mathew". 

"I'm sorry." Mathew was clearly crying now, and Alfred could feel the lump growing in his throat as well, the hot tears threatening to spill down his cheeks as well. The thing Mathew needed, the only thing that could save him, was something Alfred could never give. Arthur was trying to speak, but Mathew wasn't listening. "I'm sorry I'm not Alfred! I'm sorry I wasn't good enough." Alfred hoped Arthur felt at least three times the pain he felt from these words. Arthur had caused all of this. From the start it had been his fault and if Arthur didn't fix it - no, Arthur _would_ fix it. Because Alfred knew something about Arthur that Mathew didn't understand. 

Arthur told it to Mathew plainly. "I love _you,_ Mathew, not just Alfred. I know I don't always show it, I know I've hurt you , but please, Believe me when I say I've _always_ loved you, from the moment I took you in." For the first time since Arthur came to his senses, he dropped the cautious and submissive tone he'd been using, and Alfred heard an echo of the man Arthur used to be in his firm and loving tone. Suddenly, Alfred found the strength to move, rushing to his feet and leaving as quietly as he could. For perhaps the first time since they were children, Arthur was talking to Mathew as himself and without Alfred between them. 

Alfred wasn't needed anymore.


	15. No more bad boys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, we reach the final chapter in this story.

"Mattie, let's go!" Alfred yelled into the other room at his brother, impatiently eyeing the clock. Mathew flinched, knowing this was at least the third reminder. He grabbed his favorite tan jacket and pulled it on as he rushed around the corner, murmuring a breathless apology to his brother, leaning exasperatedly against the counter and tapping his feet. Almost immediately he bit his tongue, knowing how Alfred scolded when he apologized for things too much, especially as he tended to do that when it wasn't his fault, a habit he'd fallen into ever since that time with Arthur. Even now, long after they'd made up and Mathew had moved out, a little voice in his subconscious whispered that he was a bad boy, wasn't good enough, that he had messed up. Both Alfred and Arthur and all of Matthew's friends made sure to constantly assure him that wasn't the case. 

Alfred seemed to think that in this particular case the apology was warranted, and only clicked his tongue. "Dude, we were supposed to leave 10 minutes ago! You're lucky I came to pick you up!" Once again Mathew offered his apology, but Alfred was done waiting. He grabbed Mathew by the arm and dragged him out the door. Mathew reflected that he was lucky his brother lived next door. He was lucky he had his brother at all, even if Alfred's need to be the hero had only grown since that time with England.

Mathew wasn't blind to the desperate look Alfred got when he couldn't save someone, or the way he would put himself in harm's way to do so. But, Alfred wasn't alone. When Alfred got hurt, Mathew would patch him up. When Alfred's enemies attacked Mathew by mistake in revenge, Alfred came to save him. Because they were brothers, they protected eachother. And if ever a time came where one of them overstepped, there was another who would step in, just like that time that Mathew tried to forget. A time after Arthur's madness, where Alfred too, had tried the same thing.

_"Just stay here." Alfred had ordered, desperately, locking the door. "I'll keep you safe. I won't let Arthur take you back. Stay with me, Mattie, I'll protect you." And once again, Mathew had in locked in a room against his will, caught in a fight between Arthur and Alfred. He had thought maybe there would never be an escape. Maybe he was always cursed to be someone's possession. To Arthur he had been "Alfred". To Alfred he had been "Mattie". He had almost given up hope of ever being "Mathew." But Mathew didn't want to give up that hope, never again. So he didn't regret burning down Alfred's cabin to escape. Because at that time, when he broke the door and lit the cabin in flames, there had been someone waiting for him, not as a captor, or a "hero" but as family. And that person had been-_

"Arthur!" Mathew greeted, as the door swung open and his former guardian leaned out, looking more than slightly annoyed. "Mathew. Alfred." Arthur returned the greeting with a nod before exploding "What the bloody hell took you so long?" Alfred snorted, slapping Mathew on the back. "Don't blame me! Blame this idiot. He took forever to get ready!" Mathew flushed, embarrassed, but Arthur was already disapearing inside, ushering the two along with him. Mathew didn't miss the way Arthur carefully avoided touching either of them. He always tried to avoid it if he could, and Mathew knew he still felt the guilt of that time. Yet, here they all were. 

Arthur scolded as Alfred put his feet up on the coffee table, but still poured him tea. Alfred snickered at the face Mathew made as he bit into a scone that was a bit too dry and crumbly, and Mathew in return snickered back when Alfred burnt his tongue on the freshly made hot tea. Arthur hid his smile behind his hand, though it quickly disappeared when he received a call from a neighbour and childhood friend who he was always at odds with. Still, Mathew thought, this is how it should be. All those years ago, he would never had thought that someday the three of them would willingly be in the same room, bickering and laughing again. 

No one had forgotten the days of the past, the wounds they caused eachother. Everyone still had the scars. But even scars heal, and they were learning to grow past the mistakes of the past, to prevent mistakes in the present, and to one day, perhaps, fix mistakes in the future. There were no more "Good boys", no more "Bad boys". Just Arthur, Alfred, and Mathew.

And that was good enough. 


End file.
